


That's Just the Way It Is (alternate version)

by Northern_Star



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, French language dialog, M/M, alternate version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/Northern_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marc didn't want to leave without seeing Max again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Just the Way It Is (alternate version)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [That's Just the Way It Is.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/244631) by [Northern_Star](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/Northern_Star). 



> This is an alternate version of the original story; in this one, the dialog is written in French. Well, actually, the dialog in is _Québécois_ French, since this is likely how they would talk to each other. (And that line that looks like I didn't translate it? That's because we'd totally use these English words, pronounced _à la française_ in normal speech.)

_Thursday, December 8, Philadelphia._

Max walks out of the dressing room, sore and tired, after a hard, emotional game. It's the first time he's played against the Penguins since he signed with the Flyers, and as much as he's tried to convince himself that none of it is personal, it's just the game, he's hated every second of ice time he's had. Before this season, he'd never been anything but a Penguin, and if he's honest, a big part of his heart still belongs with them. Every hit he's taken tonight, though technically on a rival, was really taken on a friend, and worse yet, every shot he took on goal, though there were only three, felt like he was betraying his closest friend.

They'll be playing the Penguins five more times before the end of the season, and Max can't imagine it'll ever really get easier with time.

As he turns a corner and heads into the long corridor that leads outside to the parking, he suddenly hears a whisper behind him. It sounds like someone calling his name. Turning on his heel, Max finds himself face to face with Marc-André Fleury. It's unexpected, but at the same time it really isn't at all, and though he's surprised, startled even, Max can't help a smile from tugging at his lips. And then his brain catches up to the fact that Marc really shouldn't _be here_.

Nervously, Max takes a quick look around them before looking back to his former teammate. "Qu'est-ce que tu fais là?"

"Je t'attendais," says Marc with that dorky little smile that only he knows the secret to.

"T'es pas supposé être ici," Max tells him. His tone is gentle, but disapproving nonetheless.

The smile on Marc's face immediately fades. "Je pouvais pas partir sans te voir."

"Tu devrais pas te promener ici comme ça," Max replies, taking another quick, circular glance at their surroundings. "Tu vas te mettre dans le trouble, Marc."

"Mais j'voulais juste te parler," says Marc, a pleading look in his dark brown eyes.

Sighing, Max grabs Marc's hand and says, "Viens," before pulling him further down the corridor. He stops when they reach a door, which he quickly swings open, then closes quietly again once they're both inside the small storage room. It isn't exactly a private room—someone else could potentially walk in at any time—but Max doesn't know his way around the arena well enough yet to go anywhere better in a hurry. At least, they're not standing in the hallway where anyone could see them from yards away.

Max locks the door, insuring they'll at least have a little bit of advance warning, should anyone try to come in, then he turns and looks at Marc expectantly, waiting for him to say whatever it was that seemed so important.

"J'ai changé d'avis," Marc announces very seriously.

Max frowns a moment. "Quoi?" He really doesn't have any sort of idea what Marc could possibly mean.

"J'ai changé d'avis," Marc says again. "J'veux pas que ça soit la fin. Toi et moi. J'veux pas que ça soit fini."

Max runs a hand across his face, sighing heavily. This isn't a conversation he fancies having right now. Especially not here, tonight, like this. "Marc," he says slowly, "On en a parlé déjà—"

But Marc interrupts him right away. "Non," he says, " _T'as_ parlé. _T'as_ décidé. Tu t'en allais, pis c'était tout, juste comme ça, et j'ai jamais eu le choix. Ben, peut-être que j'ai dit oui à ce moment-là, mais j'ai changé d'idée depuis, et maintenant je dis non, et j'veux pas que ça se termine comme ça, Max. J'veux pas que nous deux, ça finisse comme ça."

"Marc," says Max in a long sigh, trying very hard to remain calm. "Y'en a pas de _nous deux_. On était d'accord au début, c'était temporaire, et y'était pas question d'avoir d'attaches."

"C'était pas temporaire, Max!" Marc hisses, hands flying in the air as he gets progressively agitated. "Ça l'était pas. C'était tous les soirs sur la route, et c'était tellement souvent chez nous que la plupart de tes affaires étaient déjà dans mon garde-robe, longtemps avant que tu t'en ailles. Ça fait des années que c'est plus temporaire, ç'a arrêté de l'être quand t'as arrêté d'essayer de trouver de quoi de mieux."

"Ok, peut-être que ça l'était pas, mais ça veut pas dire que c'était pour plus que la baise."

Marc is breathing hard and his cheeks have turned crimson. "Ça l'était pour moi," he croaks, clearly overwhelmed. "Pis j'ai essayé, tu sais. J'ai vraiment essayé. Mais j'suis pas capable de mettre la switch à off juste de même. De toute façon, j'veux pas."

Max shakes his head. The conversation is just running around in circles and he's run out of arguments. This sort of thing is what he had expected when they first had this talk, months ago, when it became clear that he wouldn't be back in Pittsburgh the following season—of course at the time, that's not what had happened at all. There hadn't been any emotional outbursts of any kind, just halfhearted goodbyes and promises to keep in touch anyway. As if it was agreed then that, no, this had never been more than just a convenient arrangement based only on the sex.

While Max stands there, internally debating how to handle the situation, Marc has stepped in closer to him, reaching for his belt with trembling hands. "Les choses ont pas besoin de changer," he says in a voice that's just a little too uncertain for the words to be convincing. "Pas complètement," he adds as he unclasps Max's belt buckle.

Max grabs his wrists gently, but Marc twists free of his grasp and drops to his knees.

"Marc, come on," says Max gently.

Marc, of course, doesn't listen, and within moments he's pulled Max's pants to his knees.

"T'es pas obligé de faire ça," Max says, but his tone is much too gentle to sound as though he's seriously insisting. It's been a long time since he's seen any sort of action, and he's already half hard from anticipation. "On devrait aller ailleurs, au moins."

The moment Marc starts nuzzling him through his briefs, Max's breath catches and he leans back against the door for support. And as he feels Marc's warm breath against an erection that's rapidly growing full, Max knows he's already too far gone to even try and suggest they move this somewhere that's at least more reasonable than a storage room in the Wells Fargo Center.

If Marc's breath was warm, his mouth is delightfully hot, and when he closes it around the head of Max's cock and starts slowly licking and sucking, Max's knees go weak. He drops a hand gently on Marc's head, burying his fingers in the soft, still damp hair. It's been so _long_ , and oh, God, Marc's mouth feels so amazing. It only takes a few long licks and suckles before Max feels himself nearing the point of no return.

"Attention," he croaks as an advance warning, knowing that Marc never was one to swallow.

But Marc doesn't move away, so Max tightens a hand around his shoulder urgently. Still, Marc doesn't budge, offering only a small groan for all response. He's still got Max's cock deep in his mouth by the time Max finally reaches his climax, and Marc holds him firmly between his lips, riding the orgasm with him.

When he gets up again, having pulled Max's briefs and pants back up, Marc wipes his nose with the back of his hand. His eyes are watery, but he's smiling. "Tu vois," he says, "j'peux te donner de bonnes raisons pour pas me laisser."

Max's heart just about shatters at that. Because _of course_ this was about more than just sex to him all along as well; he's only been trying to be reasonable.

He reaches for Marc's face, cupping both cheeks in his hands. "C'est pas _toi_ que je laissais, Marc," he says. "J'suis parti de Pittsburgh et j'suis parti des Penguins parce que j'ai pas eu d'autre choix. Mais j'ai jamais voulu te laisser, toi."

"Alors fais-le pas," Marc whispers. "Ça peut encore marcher. Y'a quoi, cinq heures entre ici pis chez nous? C'est pas beaucoup. Y'a rien qui a besoin de changer."

"Ouais, ok," Max finally replies. He leans in, pressing their lips together as a way to seal the promise, and lingers there a moment. Then he rests his forehead against Marc's and in a sigh, says, "Tu devrais t'en aller d'ici si tu veux pas te faire prendre et avoir du trouble."

"Ok," Marc replies with a small nod. "J'te vois bientôt?"

Max smiles. "Bientôt," he echoes and he unlocks the door. He cracks it open, looks out quickly, and reassured that it's safe and no one will see them there together, he lets Marc walk out.

He follows a minute or so later, smiling fondly, content in the knowledge that some things, despite how everything else changes completely, can still remain the same.

~end~


End file.
